


Christmas Picnics

by Biza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Light Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biza/pseuds/Biza
Summary: Four years of Christmas picnics for Harry and Draco.





	1. Year One

“I don’t need you, Potter!”

“Good,” Harry retorted, stomping up the stairs and slamming out the front door of Grimmauld Place.

Draco sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall. Now what was he supposed to do? He didn’t really want to be alone for Christmas, but he’d just driven away the one person who might’ve stayed. And why? Because he didn’t want to be pitied? Seemed rather ridiculous now that he was confronted with being alone in the drafty old house for the holiday.

Feeling sorry for himself, Draco dragged himself up to his room and prepared for bed. It was Christmas Eve, but he had no reason to be awake. Nothing to look forward to in the morning, either, but he’d deal with that misery when he was forced to and not a moment sooner. Despite his intentions, he tossed and turned for hours, thinking about Potter snug in a nice warm bed at the Weasleys. No cold and alone for Potter. 

“Get up, Malfoy!”

“G’way,” Draco mumbled irritably, not happy when he registered that Potter was kicking his bed.

“It’s Christmas, you lazy git. Get up!”

“Don’t want to.”

“There’s presents.”

Draco cracked one eye open, peering at Potter over the duvet. “Presents?”

“Yes. For you.” Harry tilted his head thoughtfully, a smile playing at his lips. “Although, I’d always thought that when you were bad, you weren’t supposed to get presents, so I don’t know why you’d have any.”

“Piss off.”

“All right,” Harry said cheerfully. “Bye, Malfoy.”

“No, wait!”

“Yes?” Harry turned back around, looking irritatingly innocent.

Draco scowled at him. “Why are you here? Thought you were supposed to be at the Weasleys?”

“I was. Already had breakfast and opened presents there. Now I’m here.”

“Already . . . what time is it?”

“Ten o’clock,” Harry said. “Ron woke me at six this morning.”

“Ugh, too early,” Draco groaned, pulling the duvet up over his head.

He hadn’t really meant to go back to sleep, but for the first time all night he was feeling warm and comfortable and sleepy and he dozed off again. When he woke the second time, he realized quickly that he wasn’t alone. _He_ didn’t snore, which meant there simply had to be someone else in bed with him.

“Potter?” he whispered, catching sight of the messy black hair on the opposite pillow.

Potter snuffled and flipped onto his side, facing Draco, but didn’t wake. At least the snoring had stopped, Draco thought absently as he stared at Potter’s face at close range.

Who knew Potter had such long, thick eyelashes? They fanned across his cheekbones and Draco was oddly tempted to touch. Potter’s nose was a little crooked, he decided. He had a strong jaw. His mouth was rather fascinating when it wasn’t being used to spout off insults.

When he realized he was thinking about Potter’s kissable lips, Draco flew out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He slammed the bedroom door on his way out, hoping to Merlin that Potter woke up and left.

Cautiously entering his room after his shower, he was grateful to find it empty. Potter had at least woken and left the bedroom, if not the house. Dressing then venturing downstairs, he wasn’t particularly surprised to find Potter in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Want some?” Potter offered, looking vaguely sheepish and his cheeks tinged a faint red.

Draco eyed Harry carefully as he poured himself a cup. “Feel better?” he sneered, unable to stop himself.

“I was tired,” Harry said defensively. “You fell back asleep and I’d been up early, so what was I supposed to do?”

“Go sleep in your own bed?” Draco suggested.

“Your bed was closer,” Harry muttered. “Look, can we just drop it? Surely you’d rather open your gifts.”

“I’ve really got presents?”

Harry nodded towards a stack on the table that Draco had been studiously ignoring. “From me and Mrs. Weasley. There’s one from Hagrid, but it’s probably rock cakes, so I wouldn’t eat them unless you want to chip your teeth. Fred and George got something for you; probably prototypes they’d like you to test, but still. Some package showed up at Hogwarts with your name on it. I suspect it’s from Snape.”

Draco felt some odd emotion rise up his throat and threaten to choke him. It was a rather frightening ordeal, being unable to breathe.

“Ron got you something, too, but I wouldn’t let him put poison in it.”

When Harry’s words caught up to his brain, Draco commented dryly, “Let me guess – a bottle of Oak-matured mead?”

Harry grinned. “I did say I wouldn’t let him poison it, so it’s safe to drink.” He hesitated, his smile faltering. “I thought maybe we could drink it later.”

“You’re going to waste your day with me?”

“Don’t have anywhere else to be.” He grimaced as he glanced around the dingy kitchen. “As much as I hate it, this is home for now.”

“That’s pitiful,” Draco commented as he unwrapped the bottle of mead and added a bit to his coffee mug. He tipped it towards Harry’s cup questioningly and Harry nodded. Harry reckoned that if he was going to spend the day with Malfoy, he might as well be drunk for it.

By late afternoon they had migrated to the drawing room and were completely pissed, but they were relaxed for the first time ever around each other. Harry was sprawled on his back in front of the fireplace and was debating whether this truce was progress or a setback.

“We can’t get along,” he announced before summoning a package of chocolate biscuits.

Draco, lying face down on the sofa, fumbled to prop himself up on his elbow. “Why not?”

“Lightening will strike or something else bad will happen.”

“Already did.” Draco waved his hand wildly. “Lightening bolt. On your head.”

The lightening bolt scrunched as Harry munched thoughtfully on his biscuit. “So, it’s too late?”

Draco attempted to nod wisely, almost falling off the sofa. “The something bad already happened, so we’re stuck with each other now.”

“Oh.” Harry rolled to his side and stretched for the bottle of mead, slugging another mouthful. “Does this mean we’re friends?”

“Ugh,” Draco grimaced, snatching the bottle from Harry. “Do we really have to go that far? I thought ‘not enemies’ was good enough.”

“What if I want more?”

“More what?”

“I don’t know. Just more.”

Draco passed the bottle back to him. “There’s a little left,” he said with grudging generosity.

“Thanks,” Harry said, offering Draco the package of biscuits and a bright smile that caused him to stare at Harry in amazement.

“You smiled.”

“Er, yeah? It’s really not so hard. I bet you could do it, too, if you just tried.”

Draco scowled.

Harry sighed. “Maybe not.” He perked up again almost immediately. “Can that be part of the more? I want smiles.”

“You want smiles,” Draco said flatly. “From me.”

Harry nodded hopefully. “I bet you look stunning when you smile.”

“Stunning?” Draco questioned, beginning to look more interested.

“Yeah,” Harry said earnestly. “Of course, you usually look stunning. Well, not always because when you first got here last summer you were skinny and your eyes looked like someone’d punched you. Twice. And you –”

“Potter! Stunning, remember?”

Harry blinked. “Oh, yeah. I just think you normally look stunning. ‘Course, I don’t plan to tell you that.” He frowned. “Er, do you think we’ll remember this conversation tomorrow? We’re supposed to forget what happens when we’re drunk, right?”

“Haven’t you ever been drunk before?”

“Um, no.”

Draco started laughing so hard that this time he did fall off the sofa, landing beside Harry.

“Potter,” he gasped. “You’re such a fuckwit.”

“Hey!”

“I meant that in the nicest way.” Draco spluttered and choked, trying to keep a straight face. “You know, since you think I’m stunning and everything, I thought I should return the compliment.”

“You’re a bastard,” Harry said sullenly.

“Oh, more sweet talk,” Draco cooed before he burst out laughing again.

Harry stared at him curiously. “You’re smiling, you know.”

Draco stopped abruptly. “I’m not!”

“You were.”

“I couldn’t have. I’m a Malfoy and Malfoy’s don’t smile!”

“You did and it was stunning.”

Draco paused. “Stunning?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Stunning. You should do it more often.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“All right,” Harry said congenially. “I like you when you smile.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. You’re still a bastard, though.”

“Good.” A pause. “Potter?”

“Hmmmm?”

“You going to end the war soon?”

“Gonna try.”

“You have to live, though,” Draco warned.

“Er, why?”

“Because.”

“Don’t know if I can do that,” Harry said. “I’ve got a dangerous job.”

“You’re the Boy Who Lived! Part of your job description is staying alive!”

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “Yeah, all right. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You do that,” Draco said, relaxing as he stretched out beside Harry and made himself more comfortable by pulling one of the cushions off the sofa to use as a pillow.

“You don’t want me dead?” Harry asked curiously.

“No. Wouldn’t have anyone to fight with.”

“Ah.”

“And sometimes I think you’re stunning,” Draco admitted.

“Stunning? Me?”

Draco nodded. “Especially first thing in the morning. You come downstairs looking like you’ve just had a good shag. You wear those ridiculous denims and nothing else and they’re not even buttoned and they look like they’re going to fall off you at any moment. And you’re usually too tired and lazy to bother with a silly thing like your wand so power just rolls off you effortlessly as you wave your hand to summon some much needed coffee.”

Harry stared. “Wow. I usually sleep through all that.”

“I know. Makes it easy for me to stare without you noticing.”

“Why would you want to stare?”

“Because you’re stunning.”

“Oh.”

“Fuckwit,” Draco muttered.

“Bastard,” Harry returned.


	2. Year Two

Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs, debating whether or not he really wanted to step inside Grimmauld Place. He was exhausted, his body ached everywhere, and he wasn’t certain he was capable of dealing with Draco, who was sure to be in a foul mood.

But it was Christmas Eve.

He forced his legs to climb the stairs, entering the house quietly and hoping that Draco was asleep. No such luck.

His eyes met Draco’s in the gloom, realizing that Draco was just sitting on the steps, apparently waiting for him.

“You’re alive,” Draco sneered.

“Of course I’m alive,” Harry snapped, instantly on the defensive at Draco’s tone and not feeling remotely patient. “Its part of my job description, remember?”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Draco snarled, jumping to his feet. “You’re the one who stormed out of here a week ago and I had no idea if you’d ever be back.”

“I told you I’d be back by Christmas, didn’t I?”

Draco growled and Harry had the impression that he was facing a caged animal. With a grimace, he realized he probably wasn’t far off the mark. Draco had been trapped in Grimmauld Place for almost a year and a half now, with barely a reprieve.

“That was the only thing you told me,” Draco said. “Aside from the fact that you were leaving on some _death_ mission.”

“It wasn’t a death mission,” Harry responded automatically. He couldn’t help mentally correcting himself, however, because another one of the Horcruxes was now officially dead. It wasn’t the most pleasant of missions, but it had been a success. Now the only problem lay in the fact that he and Draco had parted horribly the week before.

Draco did _not_ do worry well. Which was a particular problem in their relationship, because Harry gave him plenty to worry about. There were plenty of times that Harry wondered if he would survive their relationship, let alone the war.

“You were supposed to end this, Potter.”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Harry said, shoving past him and starting up the stairs. “I’m doing the best I fucking can.”

He was aware of Draco following but ignored him as he turned on the shower and began stripping out of his filthy clothes.

“You’re a mess.”

“Thank you for that brilliant observation,” Harry muttered sarcastically as he stepped out of his trousers.

“You’re injured.”

Harry made a fist, tentatively flexing his forearm. “It’s not bad. I took a nasty fall and sliced it on a rock. It’s the rest of my body that’s bloody sore.”

Stepping into the shower, he groaned as the hot water pounded into his upper back. To hell with Draco. _This_ was why he’d been in a hurry to get home. Leaning against the tiles, he rested his forehead against his uninjured arm and allowed the water to wash away some of the tension he’d been carrying around with him.

He heard the rustling of fabric and wasn’t surprised when Draco stepped into the shower behind him. He was startled, however, when Draco pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder. Was Draco actually going to forgive him that easily?

“Is there any part of your body not bruised?”

“I’ve been fighting evil all week,” Harry mumbled. “It’s hazardous to my health.”

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m here.”

“I know,” Draco said before pressing another kiss to the back of Harry’s neck.

A shiver travelled down Harry’s spine. “I’ve missed you.”

“Good.”

Harry laughed helplessly. He was slightly disappointed when Draco reached for the soap and began gently washing him from head to toe. Anything sexual was currently beyond his energy levels but he would’ve managed somehow. Still, it felt wonderful to be cared for.

He knew Draco had missed him. Probably more than Harry had missed him, without anything to distract him from his worries. If this was Draco’s method of forgiveness, Harry was more than willing to accept it.

Feeling extremely pampered and more and more languid by the second, Harry wasn’t allowed to do anything but submit to Draco’s ministrations. Once he was clean, Draco urged him out of the shower and towelled him dry before ordering him to lie on the bed. Producing some bruise salve from somewhere, he began tending to Harry’s wounds.

Harry was asleep long before Draco had finished.

When he awoke the next morning, he was lying on his side and could feel Draco’s hard cock nudging at his entrance.

“Mmmm,” Harry moaned, pushing back against the gentle pressure.

A low chuckle sounded close to his ear. “You feel up to this?”

Blindly reaching for Draco’s hand, Harry found it and tugged until Draco’s fingers were wrapped around his prick.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Having far more luck with body language rather than verbal skills this early in the morning, Harry bent his top leg forward and pushed back again with his hips. A satisfied moan escaped him as Draco pressed inside, filling him.

He felt like he’d truly come home; right where he’d wanted to be all week. Long, lazy strokes sending him coasting on a sexual high. Gentle and calm soon gave way to a frantic coupling as they strained for release. Slick with sweat, Harry was left panting as his balls finally exploded, sending come spilling onto the sheets as Draco filled his arse.

Sated and exhausted, as Harry’s breathing slowly returned to normal, he drifted back to sleep.

The next time he woke, it was to the feeling of Draco nuzzling his neck and whispering in his ear.

“C’mon, Harry, wake up,” Draco urged. “You’ve only got about an hour before you’re expected at the Weasleys.”

“Don’t wanna go,” Harry mumbled, shifting closer to the warmth of Draco’s body.

“Much as I’d like to believe that,” Draco said dryly, “I know you’re lying. So, c’mon, hurry up and let’s go shower.”

“You’re invited, too.”

Draco froze and Harry held his breath as he waited, suddenly wide awake. Slowly peeling himself away from Harry, Draco got out of bed and stared down at him.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Everyone knows we’re together and they’ve promised they’ll behave.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” Draco snapped, turning and heading for the shower.

Harry scrambled after him, ignoring the stiffness of his body.

“Draco, they know how important you are to me and they’re not going to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Yes, they will,” Draco said flatly as he turned on the water. “They’d rather see you with someone _good_ for you. I’ve already been warned away by half the redheaded population of England.”

Harry sighed and they showered and dressed in silent misery. The silence followed them as they descended to the kitchen for coffee and toast.

“I’m staying here today,” Harry announced, setting down his second cup of coffee.

“What happened to the Weasleys?” Draco asked warily.

“They’ll survive without me. I want to spend Christmas with you and if that means I stay here, well, then it means I stay here.” He stared at Draco pleadingly, hoping he wouldn’t make this any more difficult. “I’m sorry for fighting with you and I’m sorry this last week has been so terrible. I don’t know how else to make up for it, other than to stay here with you. I _want_ to be with you today.”

“Damn you, Harry!” Draco exploded. “I’m not going to let you pin all this responsibility on me.”

“ _What_ responsibility?” Harry asked, bewildered and growing angry.

“Yes, you’ll stay here, and then you’ll resent me because you didn’t get to see your precious Weasleys.”

“It’d be nice to see the rest of the family today, but I really just want to spend the bloody holiday with you. I don’t _care_ where we go or what we do.”

“Well, I don’t want to spend it with you,” Draco sneered. “I expected you to be gone all afternoon and I had plans.”

Harry stood slowly, glaring at Draco. “You’re an arse, Malfoy.”

Turning, he stomped up the stairs. He paused in the entryway, debating whether or not he should go to the Weasleys anyway. He quickly decided that he didn’t feel like proving them all right and headed up the next flight of stairs instead, thinking that locking himself in his room was a good idea.

He halted mid-step in the hallway when he recognized the mistake he’d made in his thinking. He hadn’t actually been in his own room for months due to the fact that he’d been sharing Draco’s bedroom. Draco’s _bed_.

Feeling depressed instead of angry, Harry trudged to his old room and flopped down on the bed, throwing up a cloud of dust that made him cough and feel yet more miserable. He made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the bed and the air before lying down again, feeling that he never should have got out of bed in the first place.

He sucked at relationships, and he didn’t think Draco was any better at it than he was. He was rather fond of blaming it all on the war, but he knew that wasn’t entirely accurate. He and Draco were just . . . too different? . . . too alike? . . . he didn’t know anymore.

One thing he had decided – it wasn’t Voldemort that was likely to kill him. Stress was bound to kill him first.

“What are you doing here?” Draco demanded from the doorway. “Get out!”

“Fuck you. This is my house and I can be here if I damn well feel like it.”

“I. Don’t. Want. You. Here.”

“What the fuck is your problem? Do you have another lover arriving soon or something?”

“What if I said yes?”

Harry stared, utterly gobsmacked. Draco appeared to realize he’d gone too far and tried to take it back.

“I don’t, really. I just had plans.”

“And I’ve ruined them,” Harry said flatly. He shoved off the bed and past Draco, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Harry! Stop!”

Harry didn’t bother to slow down before slamming out the front door. Draco could have the bloody house to himself, since he wanted it so bad.

Walking blindly and lost in his angry thoughts, it took Harry a while to realize he was freezing. He’d left without cloak or jacket, scarf or gloves. He didn’t even have a bloody umbrella to ward off the slushy rain that was falling. It couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to rain or snow.

Bitterly, Harry thought Draco would get along with Mother Nature quite well. Too hot? Too cold? How about a mix and see how you like it?

Ducking into a pub that was actually open, Harry sat down at the bar and ordered a pint. The bartender eyed him suspiciously but apparently took pity and didn’t ask for identification. Harry tipped him generously. He tipped even more generously for the second pint, grateful for the lack of small talk.

Getting pissed in solitude was sounding like a better plan by the second. It was tradition, after all. Of course, he’d been getting pissed with Draco the year before, but this would have to do since Draco didn’t want him around.

At least the Weasleys wouldn’t be sounding the alarm, looking for him. Most of them had expected Draco to throw a tantrum and for Harry to cave. Ron was feeling particularly sore about Harry’s relationship and Harry wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing his best mate again.

With a heavy heart, he realized it was probably for the best that Draco hadn’t wanted to go. No one expected their relationship to last, saying that it was just a matter of convenience during the war. He wasn’t even certain if they were still together or not. Draco often said things he didn’t really mean, but Harry was getting tired of trying to interpret everything – and usually getting it wrong.

After downing several pints, Harry decided it’d be best to go home, gently encouraged by the bartender. Stumbling his way through the cold, slushy streets, he managed to make it all the way back to Grimmauld Place before remembering that he wasn’t wanted there. Unsure of where else to go, he slumped onto the front steps and sat there gloomily determining his options.

“What are you doing out here?”

Blinking water out of his eyes, Harry looked up to see Draco standing in the doorway.

“Trying to figure out where to go,” he said dumbly.

Draco frowned. “Where have you been? Haven’t you been at the Weasleys?”

“No.” Harry shrugged miserably. “You didn’t want to go. But ’s all right,” he added quickly, tripping over his words as his speech slurred. “I don’t think anyone actually expected me to show up with you. I just wanted to prove them wrong, which wasn’t really a good reason to go.”

Draco’s frown deepened as he said, “That’s why you wanted me to go?”

Harry simply shrugged.

“Get in here before you freeze to death.”

“Don’t wanna.”

Draco snorted loudly. “You’re pissed.”

“Only a little.”

Venturing onto the cold porch, Draco hauled Harry upright and sent him stumbling into the house. Pulling Harry upstairs, Draco shoved him into the bathroom and ordered him to strip as he turned on the taps for a hot bath.

Harry suffered through the pins and needles re-warming process, thinking about the fact that this was the second time in two days that Draco had taken care of him by bathing him. Draco did care, even if he didn’t like admitting it directly. Unfortunately, this time Harry felt like he was being treated like a misbehaving child.

“I’m sorry for ruining your plans,” he mumbled.

Draco sighed heavily, closing the toilet lid and sitting down. “You didn’t ruin them. I just overreacted a little.”

It was the closest Harry was going to get to an apology from Draco and he accepted it. He was tired of fighting.

“Come in the bath with me.”

“Not this time,” Draco said, much to Harry’s disappointment. “I’ve got something I want to show you. Hurry up in here, get dressed, then meet me in the drawing room.”

Feeling bewildered and a little hurt, Harry watched as Draco disappeared out the door. Just when he thought things might be all right between them, Draco had to do something to confuse him again. At least Draco hadn’t looked angry any longer.

Frowning, Harry realized that Draco had actually appeared slightly nervous. _Nervous?_ Draco was never nervous. Curious now, Harry got out of the tub and quickly dried off. He found a pair of thick, warm flannel pyjamas laid out on the bed and put them on, wondering where Draco had got them. They were comfortable and soft and a little big, just the way Harry liked them. _Not_ what Draco preferred.

More curious than ever, Harry padded down to the drawing room, stopping short in the doorway and staring at the unrecognisable room. Rather than the normal gloom and dingy, uncomfortable furniture, it was _white_. A winter wonderland with white walls and ceiling, plush wall-to-wall white carpet, white sofas and chairs that actually looked comfortable.

Colour came from evergreen throw pillows and warm oak side tables and the centrepiece of the room, a large beautiful pine tree decorated with fairy lights and red and silver ornaments. Underneath were bright packages with colourful ribbons and bows.

Draco was sitting on a dark green blanket spread out on the floor between the tree and the fireplace, with what appeared to be an indoor picnic. Cheeses and wine and strawberries and melted chocolate.

“Draco?” Harry breathed in wonder.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

“What? How?”

“Come sit down.” As Harry lowered himself to the floor, Draco elaborated and reminded Harry that Draco was still Draco.

“I was tired of listening to you complain about how dark this place is, so I decided to fix this room up for you. Is it bright enough?”

Harry laughed helplessly. “Yes, it’s beautiful.” He didn’t dare say that it was probably _too_ white, or Draco might change it. A thought suddenly struck him. “This was your plans today?”

“I wasn’t finished yet,” Draco said, looking irritable and a touch sheepish. “I thought you were going to be gone during the day and I’d only planned on spending the evening with you.”

“And you’ve made it special, thank you,” Harry said, refusing to dwell on their earlier misunderstandings and arguments. “I’ve got something for you, too. _Accio_ cloak.”

The cloak he’d been wearing when he arrived home the day before flew into the room and he fumbled through the pockets until he found what he was looking for and passed it to Draco.

“A broken locket,” Draco said flatly. “You shouldn’t have.”

Harry gave him a look of exasperation. “I know it’s broken. I spent the past week working until I broke the damned thing, but I thought you might appreciate it anyway.”

“Why?” Draco asked, studying the thing curiously.

“Because it was Salazhar Syltherin’s.”

Draco’s eyes darted up to meet Harry’s in shock.

“Slytherin?”

Harry nodded. “And I thought you might appreciate it, because it means I’m another step closer to finally defeating Voldemort. One way or another, by next Christmas, I’m going to end this war.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” Draco warned before leaning closer and kissing Harry.


	3. Year Three

Harry pulled his cloak tighter about his body, making certain the hood shielded his face. The Dementors were gone, but he would swear their presence lingered in the very stones of the building. It was so cold and dank and miserable.

The screams and shouts that echoed through the corridors didn’t help. Harry kept his eyes downcast and avoided looking into any of the cells. He’d helped put many of the people here and at the moment he was having difficulty reminding himself that they’d deserved it.

The guard Harry had been following pulled up short and pointed down a short corridor.

“Down there,” he grunted. “We separated him from the rest. Best we could do for the Saviour’s toy.”

Harry grit his teeth, recognizing that the guard thought that would make him feel better. He didn’t want to piss the guards off in this place and kept his mouth shut, only giving a curt nod in acknowledgement.

With another grunt, the heavyset guard pointed down an interconnecting corridor. “The father’s down that way. Haven’t let ‘em see each other, but if ya want, we can move him ‘cross from his son.”

“I’ll let you know.” If it were only Harry’s decision to make, Lucius would be kept far away from Draco. Draco, however, might wish to actually see his father and Harry would deny him nothing that he could possibly give him under the circumstances.

“Whatever you think best,” the guard said amiably. “You can find your way back?”

“Yeah.” It hadn’t been a difficult maze of corridors, but in any case, Harry thought it would be rather easy to follow the faint scent of salty air to freedom. Fresh was not remotely a word he would use to describe his current location. If he managed to survive this visit without becoming physically ill, he would be surprised.

The guard lumbered back the way they’d come and Harry hurried down the last corridor, steeling himself to face Draco.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, his eyes closing in relief, but flying open again almost immediately.

“Hey,” Harry said softly. “Are you all right?”

“I want out.”

“I’m working on it. That’s why I haven’t been able to get here for a few days. Scrimgeour’s being an arse, so Hermione tracked down Rita Skeeter.”

“Skeeter?” Draco interrupted, his arched brow revealing his scepticism.

“She got the exclusive interview with the Chosen One, Defeater of Voldemort,” Harry said loftily, before his grimace of distaste revealed his true feelings on the matter.

“What’d you get?”

Harry grinned, knowing Draco wasn’t going to be entirely pleased with the answer. “A human interest sob story, detailing the plight of the Saviour’s redeemed boyfriend.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” Harry assured. “I can do no wrong in the eyes of the public at the moment and, with Rita’s help, I just got thousands of people to back my plea to get you pardoned and out of here. You know, because you did so much to help the war effort.”

Draco gave Harry a flat stare. “I did little more than remain in hiding, saving my own arse.”

Harry folded his hands over his heart and spoke dramatically. “Without Draco Malfoy’s support, it is unknown whether Harry Potter would’ve had the strength to continue the fight over the last two years. The Wizarding world owes a great debt to Draco Malfoy.”

“You’re joking,” Draco said incredulously.

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. “No. Rita’s playing it up nicely for me. Besides, it’s pretty much true. You _are_ the one who’s been keeping me grounded and sane.”

“I don’t think I did my job well enough, because you’re bloody mental,” Draco said dryly. “Do you really think this is going to get me out of here?”

“It has to,” Harry said with grim determination. “If not, then Scrimgeour’s going to find out the hard way that I keep fighting until I take down my enemies.”

Sighing heavily, Draco sank to the stone floor on his side of the steel bars that caged him. Harry sat down on the other side and reached through to hold Draco’s hand.

“I am going to get you out of here. Soon.”

“But today’s Christmas,” Draco said gloomily.

“Yes, and I think it’s your turn to get pissed this year.” Pulling a silver flask from his cloak pocket, Harry passed it to Draco with a grin. “Cheers.”

“Where’d you get this?” Draco asked, eyeing the flask curiously.

“Present from Moody.”

“Ah. Do tell me that you dumped out whatever it was he had in here?”

“I did and I put in a nice brandy that you like. Thought it would help warm you up.”

Draco shivered at the mention of the temperature and nodded in agreement. As Draco drank, Harry searched through his pockets again and retrieved a small bundle that he tucked through the bars before pulling out his wand to resize it.

“How’d you manage to bring your wand in here?” Draco asked in amazement. “Even the guards don’t carry their wands. Too risky.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said dryly. “I can do whatever I damn well please.” He paused. “Except get you out of here today.”

Before he could let that thought depress him too thoroughly, he resized the bundle, producing a thick blanket, warm Muggle clothes and a plain, but heavy, robe.

“I thought you could put the robe on over the clothes and no one will even know. I doubt the guards will say anything about the blanket, either.”

“They’ve pretty much left me alone,” Draco admitted as he hurriedly dressed in the warmer clothing. Sitting back down, he tucked the blanket around himself and sighed in content.

“Hungry?”

“Starved. They’re feeding me, but it’s not _good_ food.” He tilted his head curiously. “You have food, too?”

Harry grinned widely, as he proudly produced a small basket which he enlarged. “What’s Christmas without an indoor picnic?”

Draco smiled ruefully even as he eagerly reached through the bars to rummage through the basket. “Traditionally, most people sit down to a formal dinner for the holiday.”

“Well, it’s not our tradition,” Harry retorted. “We get pissed and have a picnic on the floor.”

“Do you think we could try a table next year?”

“I like the picnics,” Harry protested. He wrinkled his nose. “Although, this atmosphere leaves much to be desired.”

“It’s horrible,” Draco agreed flatly. “It’s creepy and it stinks and it’s cold and damp and I’ve never felt so filthy in my life.”

“I’m sorry I can’t get you out of here yet,” Harry said miserably. He picked at a roll, not feeling particularly hungry. It was Draco that hadn’t been eating properly, not him. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione had been shoving food at Harry at every available opportunity, insisting he needed to eat if he was to help Draco. He didn’t see how it made a difference, but he usually ate at least some, just to get them to leave him alone.

He wanted Draco, but Draco was here in Azkaban when they should’ve been at home celebrating Christmas and the end of the war.

“Don’t make me have to cheer you up,” Draco warned.

“Huh?”

“I’m the one stuck in this bloody prison, not you. You should be cheering me up.”

“That’s what I was trying to do.”

“I know, and you were doing a fine job until you started looking like a lost puppy. I hate it when you look like that, because then I feel all sad and depressed.”

Harry smiled reluctantly, ignoring his indignation at being referred to as a puppy. Draco might have odd ways of showing it sometimes, but it was good to know that he cared.

“That’s better,” Draco said in satisfaction before returning to his meal. He was scarfing down the roast chicken as if he’d not eaten all week. Eyeing the dingy cell, Harry thought it was entirely possible, despite Draco’s claim that he’d been fed.

Harry shifted, trying to get more comfortable as he simply watched Draco eat. Draco normally looked so bright and alive, but already his time in Azkaban had turned him grey. No longer was his hair a platinum blond; it was dirty, lank and almost the colour of the stone.

It was the first time Harry had ever seen Draco with a bit of a beard. Somehow, Draco knew spells that kept him smooth-shaven for over twenty-four hours and he’d never shared that secret with Harry. But without his wand, he’d turned scruffy. It was not a good look for him.

Leaning his head against the bars, Harry tucked his hand underneath the blanket and wrapped his hand around Draco’s ankle, just needing to feel close.

“We’re getting a new bed.”

Harry blinked at the unexpected statement. 

“You can think of it as my Christmas present to you.”

“All right,” Harry said slowly. “Er, do we need a new bed?”

“Yes,” Draco said, his voice firm. “We need one that’s just ours and it’s got to be extra soft with lots of pillows and it’s got to be huge. We need space because you sprawl all over the bed.”

“I do not! You’re the one who rolls away and takes all the blankets with you.”

“I wouldn’t have to roll away if you’d quit snoring so loudly.”

“I don’t snore!”

“You do, too.”

“Why haven’t you ever said anything before?”

“I was being nice.”

Harry gaped at him.

“Oh, all right, you don’t really snore that loudly,” Draco admitted. “Just a little snuffling sound.” He smirked. “Kind of like a puppy.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Ah, all is right with the world.”

Harry laughed, despite himself. “So, what’s the real reason for the new bed?”

“I already told you. One that’s ours. Not mine. Not yours. Ours.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t dare say anything more about Draco’s sweet sentiments.

“And huge, so we have lots of room for sex.”

Harry smiled happily, now understanding that it had a lot more to do with a new start for the two of them than it did anything else. He knew they’d both been feeling uncertain about what would happen to them after the war. Oddly enough, a new bed signified that they had a future together, and Harry decided he could accept that.

They sat in companionable silence while Draco finished eating. Harry made the silence more complete by erecting a ward to block out the sounds from the rest of the prison. Draco was visibly relieved but didn’t acknowledge it.

When the leftovers were packed away into the basket again, Draco broke the calm by saying, “My father’s here somewhere.”

Harry couldn’t stop his face from twisting into a grimace at the mention of Lucius. “Do you want to see him?”

“No, but I should.” Draco stared sightlessly at the wall. “Assuming I get out of here, I’ll have to sort out the Malfoy’s assets now that the war’s over. Father sunk a lot into the war and the Ministry’s likely to take their cut, but what’s left is mine. I’m the only Malfoy heir.”

Harry remained silent, not sure what he should say. It was clear from Draco’s expression that he missed his father, even if he wasn’t likely to admit it. It was different from missing his mother. Since she was dead, there was no opportunity to see her again. Lucius was alive, but unattainable.

“It’s probably going to take months to sort everything out, and I’ll probably have to stay at the Manor for awhile.”

“But –” Harry snapped his mouth shut on his protests.

“Don’t worry,” Draco said, with a bitterness that thankfully wasn’t directed at Harry. “I don’t want to live there. Not after . . .”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Harry understood what he meant. Voldemort had tainted Draco’s childhood home and it would never be the same for him. Harry was rather grateful to hear Draco didn’t want to live there because, as far as he was concerned, the place held nothing but bad memories. He wasn’t looking forward to Draco being under the influence of the place for the next several months. It would be yet another test of their rocky relationship.

“Do you think you could arrange for me to see him?”

Feeling slightly ill at seeing the hope in Draco’s eyes, Harry nodded. “The guard has already said they’d move him to the cell across from you if I want.”

“Will you do it?”

“Yeah.” He’d do it, even if it did mean leaving Draco under Lucius’ direct influence. Before leaving the prison, though, he decided to pay Lucius a little visit.

They glared at each other angrily, but Harry refused to back down, especially when he knew he had the upper hand. Lucius was not pleased with any of the news Harry was revealing to him, particularly the fact that Harry and Draco were together.

“Spoils of war?” Lucius spat viciously.

“If that’s the way you want to look at it,” Harry agreed amiably. “I couldn’t ask for a better reward.”

“Draco is not property.”

“Maybe not, but he’s mine, nonetheless,” Harry said. “I don’t intend to let him go and he’d be incredibly hurt if I did. I won’t let that happen, because I love him and I think he loves me.”

Lucius managed a look of haughty disgust, despite his ragged appearance and gloomy surroundings.

“Maybe I should put this in terms you’ll understand,” Harry said, sneering maliciously. “Draco was a smart Slytherin and aligned himself with the more powerful wizard – the one who actually won the war and has a great deal of political influence. That would be me, in case you’ve not realized that yet. I will be getting him out of here soon, despite his fuck ups. You, on the other hand, will still be here.”

Lucius looked as if Harry had forced him to eat something vile. 

“Now try telling me that Draco didn’t make the right decision.”

Suddenly looking much calmer, Lucius smiled nastily. “Perhaps you’re right. He’s done well for himself.”

Harry snorted in disgust. “Your son is a manipulator, but he’s not using me like you think. As difficult as this must be for you to believe, Draco actually gives a damn about someone besides himself.”

He tilted his head, studying Lucius calculatingly. “He actually still cares about you. I’d suggest you not ruin that.”

He had managed to break through the masks, and Lucius was taken aback. “You’re not here to taunt me, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Harry agreed. “As fun as this is, I’m more interested in warning you against destroying Draco’s future. You’ve already done that once and he managed to make some decisions without you that turned things around for him. Help him sort out the family’s affairs, but let him live his own life. If you give him a chance, he’ll make the Malfoy name something to be proud of again.”

Lucius sat down heavily and Harry knew he’d given the man several things to think about.

“One more thing,” Harry said. “I don’t intend to let you out of this hell hole anytime soon – unlike Draco, you deserve to be here – but I will remember how you handle this situation.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Just making a promise. The guards are ready to move you near Draco as soon as I say the word. Your treatment here can be made worse or perhaps a little better. It’s up to you.”

Lucius’ glare was icy, but Harry smiled in vicious satisfaction as he bowed mockingly. “Good day, Lucius.”


	4. Year Four

“Are you ready to go?”

Harry looked up at the sound of Draco’s voice. He’d been busy packing up all of the presents for the Weasleys while Draco finished getting ready. Why exactly it took Draco so long to get dressed, Harry didn’t know.

“Yeah. Are you sure you want to go?”

“No, I don’t want to go, but I’m doing this for you, not me.”

Harry knew that. The problem was that he didn’t know that he really wanted to go himself any longer. He wanted to spend more time with Draco and going to the Weasleys was sure to lead to a fight. They’d been there for dinner several times over the last year and it was usually tense and uncomfortable.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to go now,” Draco warned. “Two years ago you threw a fit because we didn’t go.”

“I didn’t throw a fit, you did!”

“Who was the one who wanted to prove them wrong?”

Harry glared at him irritably, knowing it was a losing battle. Draco would twist things around until he was completely innocent and Harry was the evil monster that was always ruining things.

He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted . . . Draco. He missed Draco, as odd as that sounded. Technically, he saw Draco every day. They still lived at Grimmauld Place, sharing meals and sleeping together every night.

In a way, it was better than all the months Draco had been going back and forth from Malfoy Manor. When Draco had been around during that period of time, he’d almost always been in a foul mood. Harry was the one who had to listen to Draco’s regular rants regarding his father, the Dark Lord, the Ministry, Harry’s clothing, Harry’s friends, the stuffy atmosphere at Grimmauld Place or even the consistency of his eggs in the morning. Harry learned first hand whatever it was that struck Draco’s irritability nerves.

Three months before, Draco had declared his family affairs officially under control. They’d celebrated by spending a week in bed and Harry had mistakenly believed things would be better. Instead, Draco had grown distant and secretive, though admittedly he wasn’t in a constant state of annoyance any longer. He spent long hours away from the house, giving Harry any number of excuses but always remaining vague and guarded.

Harry couldn’t help thinking their relationship was doomed for failure, despite the fact that they’d managed to stay together for three years. That fact alone was enough to surprise everyone.

The Weasleys and Hermione had been sure Draco would bail as soon as he had his Manor back. Harry hadn’t doubted Draco then, but now he was worried. Ironically, Ron and Hermione had done an abrupt about face and were doing their best to reassure Harry that Draco would come round soon.

He didn’t know what to think anymore. He just wanted to spend some time alone with Draco and attempt to salvage their relationship. While he knew it was selfish, he wanted his Christmas picnic with Draco instead of a tense afternoon at the Weasleys.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled him close. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, shrugging.

He wanted to confront Draco about the secretiveness, but he was afraid their relationship would be over if he did. It was likely that Draco would make him look like a fool and he didn’t want to have to face everyone over the holidays with a broken relationship hanging over his head.

“Liar.”

“Draco, please. I just miss you.” He tried distracting Draco with a kiss, before saying, “Let’s go.”

Draco, however, wasn’t budging. “Harry, how could you miss me if I haven’t gone anywhere?”

_Why_ did Draco have to pick up on the tension now?

“Can we talk about this later?”

“No, now,” Draco demanded.

Harry sighed wearily, knowing Draco would keep pushing until he had a satisfactory answer. “I’ve already told you, I just miss you. Today’s the first day I’ve had your full attention for months. Ever since you finished up with things at the Manor, you’ve been distant and preoccupied and I –”

He took a deep breath before continuing, extremely conscious of Draco’s narrowed eyes observing him closely. Now that he’d started, though, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“—and I don’t know if you really want to be here any more. I seem to have outlived my usefulness, except in bed. I do usually have your attention there at least.” Rather than sounding bitter, he knew he sounded vulnerable and unhappy. Weak. Assuming Draco was already having doubts, Harry was aware he was adding to them, not making things better.

Draco didn’t say anything and Harry began to squirm uncomfortably, just wanting the conversation over with. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Harry,” Draco sighed softly, appearing genuinely regretful. “No, I’m not leaving you. I didn’t realize . . . yeah, I’ve been a little preoccupied, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Going to the Weasleys with me today – it’s not just some fuck you statement before you dump me?”

“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?” Draco said flatly.

“What am I supposed to think?” Harry asked. “You’ve done nothing but yell at me for the last year. I know it’s been stressful for you and I’ve tried being understanding, but you’ve made it clear you don’t like being around me except in bed. I’ve been living with some rude stranger and I want Draco back.”

Draco’s lip curled into a faint smirk. “You do know that Draco isn’t exactly known for being a nice person.”

“I know,” Harry said, gazing at the wall sadly as they talked about the Draco he’d known before. “But I liked him anyway. He was funny and surprisingly honest. With me, at least. He paid attention to me. Not Harry Potter. Me. He gave a damn, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He’d humour me with Christmas picnics and visits from my friends. He was always there and now he’s been gone for months and I miss him.”

And he felt like a complete idiot for saying anything. “Look, can we just drop this and talk about it later? Please? It’s Christmas.”

It was both a relief and a surprise when Draco allowed it to be dropped and they Apparated to the Burrow with their presents for the Weasleys. For Harry, though, the day had already been irrevocably ruined and he had to force a smile onto his face as he interacted with his friends and family. As much as he loved them, he just wanted to go home.

Presents were opened and Harry did his best to hide his disappointment that Draco hadn’t thought to get him anything. Draco was being on his best behaviour and maybe he considered that his gift to Harry. Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. He could feel the nervousness radiating off of Draco and wasn’t certain they would even be together by nightfall.

During Christmas dinner, Harry reached his breaking point. He pushed his plate away, not remotely having an appetite.

“Harry,” Hermione hissed. “Quit being a prat and eat.”

“Me? But I’m not doing anything.” He stared at her, feeling incredibly hurt.

Ron jumped into the conversation. “Leave him alone, Hermione. He has to have room for pudding.”

“But he’s making a fool out of himself.”

“It’s Malfoy’s fault, not his,” Ron said in stubborn defence of his best friend.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Draco muttered, carefully setting his fork on his plate and wiping his mouth. “Give me an hour,” he said to Ron and Hermione.

They nodded, suddenly sending Harry nervous smiles. “Good luck,” Hermione said to Draco.

Draco cast a sidelong glance at a bewildered and hurt Harry before responding to her well wishes. “Thanks. I think I’ll need it.”

He took Harry’s hand and pulled him out of his chair. It wasn’t lost on Harry that the rest of the room had gone silent, not a small feat for a Weasley holiday dinner, and they were all beaming widely.

“Are you ready for your gift now?”

“My gift?” Harry asked blankly. Draco had got him something after all?

“Hold on,” Draco warned, “I’m going to Apparate us.”

Instinctively latching on to Draco’s arm, he wasn’t given an opportunity to question further before he felt the squeeze of Apparition and he was stumbling to a halt in a new location. But, glancing around the countryside, he had no idea _where_ they were now, other than they appeared to be in some sort of woods.

“Draco?”

Not bothering to answer, Draco simply took Harry’s hand again and led him down a small lane. They were in the middle of nowhere, as far as Harry was concerned, and they weren’t even wearing cloaks in the winter weather. As pretty as the scenery was, he didn’t think Draco would have them out in the cold for long.

As they walked, Harry decided it was similar to the walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade and he wondered if they were anywhere nearby. Within a minute of landing, they rounded a bend and Harry stared at the sight that greeted them. They’d stepped into a large meadow. At the end of the lane was a beautiful, two story house and there were lots of trees and a garden that was likely to bloom brilliantly in the spring. On the far side of the house was even a small Quidditch pitch.

He stared, not certain why it should feel familiar to him. “Where are we? I’ve never been here before, have I?”

He glanced at Draco and realized his lover looked more nervous than he’d ever seen him. “Draco, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Draco said quickly. He bit his lip. “This place feels familiar to you?”

Harry shrugged helplessly, gazing at the house. “A little. Who lives here?”

“We do,” Draco said softly. “Or rather, you do, but I’m planning to live here with you, whether you like it or not.”

“Of course you’re living with me,” Harry said, dismissing the last part of Draco’s statement. “But we live _here_? This is ours?”

“This is yours,” Draco corrected. “It’s where you should’ve grown up. You lived here with your parents. I’ve spent the last few months having the house rebuilt and cleaning up the land. It’s not exactly how it was, but I talked with some of the people in Godric’s Hollow –” He pointed back the way they’d come. “—and I think I’ve come pretty close.”

“Why? How?” Harry attempted to splutter out a few more words, but he wasn’t feeling very coherent.

“I came across all the paperwork when I was working on our finances earlier this year. I knew you weren’t aware of this property and I wanted it to be a surprise. You’ve always hated Grimmauld Place and I refuse to live at the Manor again. I thought, well, I thought you would like this. But we don’t have to live here if you don’t want to.”

“Draco, I . . . this is . . . I thought . . . Merlin, I feel horrible! This is the most amazing present anyone has ever given me and I thought you were leaving me. I’m so sorry.”

“Harry, no, don’t apologize. I’m the one who fucked up. You’ve been on my mind constantly, but I didn’t realize that I was actually neglecting you all this time. I said I’d make it up to you, though,” Draco said, nodding his head towards the house.

Harry crushed him in a hug and held on tightly until he thought he could move without breaking down. “Thank you,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

“Do you want to see inside? It’s bloody cold out here.”

Harry grinned, grateful for the bit of levity. Draco would always be Draco, even when doing something extremely generous and giving. “Merlin, I love you,” Harry said before kissing him, too excited to pay attention to the fact that it was the first time he’d said the words aloud. He’d felt them for so long that it was a part of him.

He left Draco stunned in the lane as he bounded to the house. Draco followed slowly, mouthing the word “love” with a mixture of alarm and awe. Harry was practically jumping in place on the front steps as he waited for Draco before going inside.

Draco had recovered enough to ask, “Do you want the grand tour?”

Harry nodded eagerly. He knew it would be days before he fully processed everything he was feeling. Towards Draco. Towards his parents. And even towards the Dursleys. He should’ve been here in this house, not with them all those years.

Draco opened the front door with a flourish, gracing Harry with an indulgent smile. As soon as Harry felt the wave of heat drifting through the opening, he relaxed. With the heat came the smell of fresh paint and raw lumber. While the land held his roots, this was a new start.

He felt giddy and overwhelmed as he stepped inside, gazing round at the cosy atmosphere Draco had created. There was no question that Draco had impeccable taste, but he’d created a house that Harry could happily call home.

He didn’t question when Draco showed him the upstairs first. The stark office for Draco and the comfortable study for Harry. The guest bedrooms and the master suite. They managed to avoid the temptation of the large bed in their room, returning downstairs. The large sitting room would be big enough for company, but arranged in a manner that would be cosy when it was just the two of them. Harry longed to sit in front of the fireplace curled up with Draco, but he was dragged on to see the kitchen.

Eventually, by a circuitous route, they came to the dining room. With a smirk firmly in place, Draco opened the double doors and bowed Harry into the room.

Harry had managed to hold his emotions in check, but couldn’t hold back the tears now as he took in the scene before him. It was his Christmas picnic. Instead of a dining room table, there were blankets spread out on the floor and in the centre of each were trays full of Christmas puddings.

Wiping the tears away hastily, he turned to face Draco with a watery smile. “I don’t know how to say thank you for this.”

“Say that you’ll share it with me.”

“I can’t imagine _not_ sharing it with you,” Harry said sincerely. “Don’t yell at me for being sappy, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I feel like such a git for doubting you the last couple months, but I know we can make things work. I want this. I want _you_.”

Draco gave Harry a rare genuine smile that lit up Harry’s entire world. “I want you, too, Harry,” he said, “but we’re getting a proper dining table after the holidays.”

Laughing joyfully, Harry nodded his agreement, pulling Draco close for a kiss before the family arrived for a Harry and Draco Christmas picnic.

~~Finite~~


End file.
